


We Would Do the Same For You

by Scifichick16



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Found Family, M/M, Team to the rescue, Temporary Character Death, Whump, kidnappings, lots of temporary character death, mentions of torture, when you're a new immortal you make stupid decisions, when you're an old immortal you make even stupider decisions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scifichick16/pseuds/Scifichick16
Summary: When Andy committed to saving Joe & Nicky, she promised Nile they would do the same for her. An exploration of that promise in five vignettes.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien & Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf & Nicky | Nicolò, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 126





	1. Nile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile wakes in the trunk of a car.
> 
> **Warning:** Language. Mentions of violence against women.

The wool-like texture of the trunk's interior carpeting scratches against the side of her face. It’s the first sensation that awakens her. The second is the uncomfortable tightness localized in her shoulders. She startles, realizing it’s because her hands are tied behind her back. The tightness blossoms into a full blown burning ache. They've been that way for a long time. The phantom memory of something hard and plastic striking against the back of her skull blazons its way to the forefront of Nile's memory; aided by the sudden, irritating itch of dry blood along the back of her scalp. It probably should worry her that _that_ was the most familiar sensation in this whole fucked up scenario. With a grunt of effort, she twists over, managing to flip herself around and onto her back with a faint groan. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she gives her eyes a moment to adjust. The trunk is empty but for her and the dim red of the car's taillights flash brightly above her. She feels the car's momentum slow beneath her before the vehicle swings sharply right, heading for a destination unknown.

_Fuck._ She thinks. _Motherfucking fuck, fuck, fuck._ The voice in her head sounds exactly like Andy; but it’s the memory of an Irishman laughing at the utility of the word which next comes irrationally to mind. There'd been a brief phase a few years ago (right before she'd shipped out for basic) when her brother was obsessed with The Boondock Saints. The phase had lasted a week and ended abruptly when their mom, annoyed by the movie's constant cursing, swore up and down it would never be played in her house again. The memory brought with it an ache all its own.

Scowling at herself, Nile looks between the two taillights, judging the left one to be closer. She shuffles towards it, closing the gap and beginning to kick in earnest. A few hard, precise blows and the red, glass-like material falls away easily. Twisting back onto her side, she flexes her fingers, feeling nothing but resistance from her bindings. Duct tape? Possibly. Maybe electrical. Whoever had tied her up knew what they were doing. She wasn't getting out of these bindings anytime soon. Angling herself so she could see out the broken taillight, all she finds nothing but empty road stretching back into darkness before her. They were far outside the city limits now, and this was not good.

***************

Immediately following her one-man siege of Merrick Laboratories, her first free days of immortality were little more than a passing blur for Nile. Between Booker's exile and Copley's conscription, the rest of her energy became almost entirely dedicated to helping Andy tend to and learn to avoid the growing number of injuries collected amid the constant turn-over of safe-house locations. For as well as the ancient, former-immortal (and the others who followed her), could hide in plain sight, millennia of constant healing brought with it a disregard for the tiny wounds collected in the every-day minutia. Something as simple as bumping up too hard into a wall could now end in a bruise rather than an unnoticed, temporary inconvenience. In the span of that first week, Andy had (by sheer lack of practice) collected more than just a few. As the only one raised in the current century, Nile found herself unofficially appointed the role of Andy’s guru/nurse with Joe and Nicky acquiescing easily to her, albeit limited, modern medical expertise. In a way, it was exactly what they all needed. A quick excuse to ease the natural awkwardness of transitioning a new member into the unit.

Nile estimated their awkward adjustment period was finally over when she at last picked up on Nicky and Joe’s odd behavior. At first glance, she wrote off the lack of too much physical distance between the pair as simply a consequence of being centuries together. Andy never commented; and, honestly, it was too big a concept for Nile to even want to try and comprehend. It was easier to assume it must be normal. But then she got to know them, hear about them from them. Something not neatly classified into words began to tug at her instincts. For instance, in spite of the many, _many_ times the pair would disappeared off somewhere (clearly to have sex), they rarely, if ever, stood or sat more than a hairsbreadth away from the other even during downtime. Nile could count on one hand the exact number of times she'd interacted with one of them as a solo act. True, they made a good show of hiding it; but in hiding it eventually only drew her attention.

It didn't take long after for Nile to piece together what she was sensing. The shared community of the safe-house didn't exactly lend itself to trauma processing, especially considering recent events. Hell, if anything like what had happened to the pair had happened to her when she was still a Marine (and mortal), she’d be on the first carrier home. Nile supposed, with a lack of home to escape back to, the least the two men deserved was a vacation.

It was a month and a half later when Joe, of all people, finally proposed the same solution. Sitting at the dinner table, he framed it as a means to aid Copley; apparently having discussed with the man that afternoon a plan to forge a series of false trails should someone manage to pick up the last of Merrick's fading breadcrumbs. He suggested that while Nicky and he head to Malta, Nile and Andy could make their way through the US or Canada. They could meet back up at the Sobu safe-house in Tokyo in two weeks time. Nile spotted a brief smile skirt along Andy's face at the mention of Malta, informing her that some inside joke had been given without explanation. She was halfway through deciding if she should even bother to ask what the joke was when their boss flatly refused his request.

"Nile and I aren't flying over halfway around the world so you two can have a twentieth honeymoon." Andy stated bluntly, purposefully moderating the amount of vodka poured into her coffee mug. "We stick together."

Nicky caught Nile's eye from across the table. They exchanged a brief look of mutually exasperated fondness before his expression dropped into something more serious. His eyes flickered to Andy and then back to her. Wordlessly, she read his request. _Help us convince her. Please._ Next to him, Joe let out a frustrated sigh as he settled back into his seat. "Copley asked us help him with this, Boss."

Andy raised her head to meet his gaze and Nile was surprised to see something undefined momentarily war for dominance in her expression. Before she had the chance to decipher it, though, the look was summarily muted as Andy took a sip of her drink. "There a reason he can't do it himself?"  
  


Nile turned back to Joe, curious what his answer would be. It had become quickly apparent early on just how much the three had depended on Booker when it came to the topic of electronics, surveillance, and electronic surveillance. With the discovery of how he'd used his unique skills to plot openly with Copley behind their backs, Joe had practically made it a personal mission to become better educated with the spy game of the 21st century. First, he'd covered the basics with Nile. Then, when she couldn't show him more, made the outreach to Copley for more information. He was, surprisingly, a quick study at it.

Thinking about Booker left an odd, empty sensation along the inside of Nile's chest. On one hand, she was as mad as any of them for his betrayal; even if it was only in an abstract, principles sort of way. Okay, she was still pissed about getting shot at...a lot. Not to mention being forced to jump off a twenty story building. She absolutely hated heights.

On the other, it wasn't the first time she'd wondered if his exile meant she herself might be missing some necessary bonding time with someone _close_ to her age. It was still hard to wrap her mind around. That in the grand scheme of things, some guy who died fighting with Napoleon likely shared more of her life experience than the people she was currently eating dinner with. Sometimes, something someone on the team did or said would reminded her of her old life and, when she relayed said experience, they would all get the same pitying look in their eyes. Like they knew it was important to relate, but they couldn’t quite remember how. That it had been so long since any of them had walked in her shoes. In the grand scheme of things, she supposed, two-hundred year really _wasn’t_ that big of an age difference. She'd been supposing a lot lately. 

"According to him every shell game needs its pea." Joe crossed his arms and gave a little shrug. "Or, in this case peas."

Andy's jaw tightened slightly as she deliberated his words. She deliberated for a while. Long enough for Nile's attention to drift back to the risotto on her plate, still impressed that Nicky had magically conjured something so delicious from a space which barely qualified as a kitchen.

"She's not ready." Andy said softly, causing Nile's head to snap up in her direction. Andy wasn’t looking at her.

"Not ready for what?" she asked, keeping her tone deceptively light. It didn't fool a single one of them but she still took a sip of water from her glass. Three pairs of eyes shared what she was, in the privacy of her own thoughts, beginning to nickname their Granny Gaze. It was the kind of look that spoke benignly to the superiority of age and experience and, pointedly, did not often include her. She was already starting to hate that look.

"She didn't mean anything by it, Nile." Nicky said, the first to pick up on her irritation. "It's just we've been in your position before."

"Traveling home took a lot longer back when we died than it does today." Joe added, squeezing his lover's hand gently above the table. _Ah,_ she thought, _So that's what this is about._

"Yeah, well. It's not like I can avoid the U.S. forever.”

"Could be interesting to see you try."

***************

It was Facebook, of all things, that finally broke her. 

Browsing social media, late at night, in a New York hotel room, with Andy snoring softly in the bed next to her. The others hadn’t known, but she’d lost half the battle a mere two weeks after London. Deciding that, even if she couldn't physically be with her family anymore, the 21st century offered the option to keep a distant, anonymous eye over them instead. A few fake profiles and she was friended or subscribed to all her brother's various accounts. Who knew? Perhaps she could even keep this up over the centuries. Become the mysterious benefactor to her family's line. Though the source of her brother's possible descendants was not a topic she ever wanted to think about.

The post in question was a request for donations to the Wounded Warrior Project. Donations to be made in her and their father's names. It was the first thing to pop up on her feed following his acceptance of her friend request. The sight of it made her blood run cold.

True to his word, Copley had altered the records so she'd been killed in action mid-transfer from the base. An I.E.D hit the Hummer she'd (supposedly) been riding in, blowing the thing to pieces. No survivors. Her body, or someone's, Nile didn't really want to know the details, had been recovered. Identified by her uniform and false dog tags, but deemed too damaged for an open casket service. It hurt to think it was the second such funeral her mother and brother had been forced to sit through.

"You okay, kid?" Andy’s voice shook her from her thoughts. She had woken silently, turning over to prop her head up against her pillow. She was watching Nile closely now, eyes soft and mouth locked in a thin, concerned line.

"Yeah." Nile answered, letting out the breathe she didn't know she'd been holding. "I'm good."

She closed the laptop. She wanted to go home. It wasn’t something she was ready to say aloud yet.

***************

The car began to slow to a stop. Adrenaline spikes through Nile's veins. Her breathing quickens. She’s afraid. Why the hell is she so afraid? It isn’t like this is the first time she's woken up in a trunk anymore. Andy pretty much checked that trauma off her non-existent bucket list. It isn't even like this... _guy_ could really kill her in the first place, No matter how much he tried. _Just because we keep living doesn't mean we don't stop hurting._ Booker’s voice answers the question for her. She’s never wanted to punch someone more in her life.

She struggles to align herself parallel to the trunk door, making sure her legs are free to kick up at her assailant the minute he opens it. Kick, tumble, run. She'll worry about the lack of feeling in her hands later. Right now, her main focus is getting away and getting away alive. If she dies and comes back, there will be questions. Immortality isn’t just her secret to keep. The car comes to a complete stop. Music rumbles, sudden and audible, through the seat behind her. Nothing moves and all Nile can do is wait.

She thinks about Quynh in her iron coffin.

**************

To be entirely fair, she hadn't _intended_ to leave Andy behind. Andy's flight was supposed to change over in Chicago while hers was supposed to end up in Dallas. Something got mixed up along the way and by the time they realized it, it was too late to do anything about it. She would have caught the next flight, too, if it hadn't been for the news report at the terminal catching her attention. The victim's remains, the last in a string of four recent kidnappings and homicides, had been recovered in some cornfield in the middle of central Illinois. She'd been bludgeoned to death, likely soon after her disappearance. The police were finally announcing the intent to label the crime as consistent with the pattern for a serial murder. The victim had barely lived a mile from her mother's apartment building.

To this day, Nile wouldn't be able to explain you what it was about that news report that set her off. Maybe it was part of her transition from soldier and aspiring art student to member of an immortal mercenary group trying to do some good in the world. Her trial by fire fundamentally altering the way she viewed the world and her response to injustices in it. Maybe it was the uncomfortable resemblance she could see in faces she had never met. At some point or other, the victim and the three other woman had lived in the same place she once called home. Maybe it was simply the idea of another asshole terrorizing the community she grew up in, the one she could never return back to, was something she could no longer afford to stomach. Not when she had the ability to do something about it.

It was surprisingly easy how far things like sunglasses, non-brand clothing, and being out of the country for the past four- _five_ months made it for her to blend back into the familiar streets of Chicago. The old neighborhood had certainly seen better days and, stepping back into it, she momentarily considered moving her mother to the safety of the suburbs. Not that that was every gonna happen, mind you, and it wasn't because she couldn't afford it now. One of the last things Booker did before ceasing all contact was begin to set up access to an account in her name. He, or one of the others, eventually transferred a hefty "starting salary" into the account for her. Money was no longer the issue. She just knew her mom. Knew how important it was for her to work for everything she got. Knew she would look that kind of gift-horse squarely in the mouth.

The hard part turned out to be balancing her hunt with the knowledge Andy was at most a day behind her. Nile had no doubt the world's O.G. Warrior Princess would not be thrilled by her newest soldier going AWOL from a mission in her home city. Especially not on a mission Andy hadn't wanted to go on in the first place. Copley had already changed the records, so if Nile was caught there'd be too much to explain. Too much risk of exposure. At best, she figured she had three days max. One day for Joe and Nicky to extricate themselves from each other long enough to remain descent in public. Two for them to catch up to Andy. And probably less than a day for the three of them to track her down together. So Nile took a page from the boss' handbook. Go big or go home. Throwing caution to the wind, she knocked on every door in the neighborhood not part of her mother's building or neighbors she was certain would recognize her. Gave her alias and phone number out to as many strangers as she could. Made sure to frequent the club every night where three of the four women were last seen. All told, her search seemed to prove as fruitless as the cops' despite surprisingly lasting a week without interruption. A nagging feeling she should have at least heard from the others by now was just beginning to gnaw at her stomach a bit. She'd planned to finally call tonight, just to make sure everything was fine and they hadn't been kidnapped or tortured again. She just needed to get back to her cash-only motel room first.

Destiny, it seemed, had other plans for her.

***************

"What the hell?" A male voice mutters through the cushion of the car seat and over the din of the radio. The sound of music fades as the ignition turns off, the driver's side door opening a moment later. Nile tenses, game face at the ready. She might die for all the effort of this attempt, but it would only be temporary and she _is_ going to make this bastard fight for every inch of ground gained. The only thing she's not expecting is to immediately hear the sound of struggling as the car door slams shut. Something cracks hard against a window and the car momentarily shakes as a muffled grunt sounds outside the trunk. She thinks she hears multiple footsteps outside, and considers shouting to let them know where she is; but she has no intel. No information if they are friend or foe. Something large slams against metal hood above her.

"I said open the hood."

"Andy?" Nile breathes. Then, shouts. "Andy! Andy I'm in here!"

She gives the hood one good kick before it opens. The beam of a mag-light momentarily blinds her. When her vision clears, she finds Joe grinning down at her like an idiot.

"You know it's the bad guys who are supposed to be sitting back here, right?" he asks, grinning wider as she glowers back at him. 

She begins to sit up and his hand is there to steady her with the other making quick work of her bonds. Finally free of the trunk, she takes a second to get her bearings and draw in a breath of cool, fresh air. She's standing in another cornfield, trimmed for harvest, with the glow of small town lights far off to her distant right. No one would have heard her put up a fight out here. A second car, belonging to the others, is parked a yard away from them with headlights bathing the scene before her. Nicky is holding the killer in place, a white man of no distinguishable features, while Andy vents what Nile hopes is the last of her frustration into a punch to his stomach. The man crumples instantly, whimpering as he falls to the ground and makes no further attempts at movement. Andy pivots around fiercely and makes a beeline for Nile.

"Are you hurt?" she demands when she gets there, seemingly oblivious to the silliness the question itself poses. Her hand shoots out to grasp Nile firmly by the chin and she tilts the young woman's head to both sides as if inspecting her for damage.

"Just my pride." Nile replies. "Andy, I-"

"There's some blood on the back of her jacket," Joe provides, ignoring Nile's second glower in as many minutes. "Asshole must have hit her before tying her up in the back of the car."

Andy nods, judiciously adding the observation to her mental list of information. She releases Nile and just stands there evaluating her. Eventually, she looks back at the killer and Nicky keeping watch over him. "Alright, so what do you want to do with him?"  
  
  
"Excuse me?" Nile isn't sure she heard Andy right. The other woman turns back, her face an iron mask forged over centuries.

"You have two choices," she replies. "Either we lock him in that trunk and have Copley tip off the police, or we kill him. You decide."

"I deci- what do you mean I decided? What are the cops going to do with him?" Andy isn't giving her anything, so she tries another approach. "Cops needs evidence, Andy."

"Well, there's plenty of that." Joe mutters, receiving a glare from their boss this time. He glances downward, genuinely admonished, as Andy turns her attention back to Nile.

"So we kill him?" She asks.

Nile opens her mouth and closes it again. She knows this is some kind of test, but what she can't figure is what Andy is trying to figure out. Given the choice, Nile knows she doesn't want to murder anybody. But the cops were slow and someone needed to do something. Glancing up at Joe, who was stubbornly avoiding her eyes, she takes a leap of faith.

"Let's put him in the trunk." She says and relaxes when she sees Andy do the same. "The last free experience he gets should be what his victims saw."  
  
  


"Good." Andy motions to Nicky, who picks up the killer, dragging him over to the group. The man is still whimpering, snot bubbling along the sides of his face. His eyes fill with hatred as he sees Nile followed by sudden confusion.

"But you were-" he starts before Nicky non-to-gently shoves him into the trunk of his car and slams the hood shut on him. He turns to Nile, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"I'm very glad you are safe." he whispers in her ear before pulling back to slide an arm around Joe's waist.

"Me too." The other man agrees, returning the gesture with a sad smile. He looks back at Nile. "Though, I really don't appreciate you ruining our honeymoon."

"I thought this was supposed to be a mission for Copley?" Andy’s jibe has little fire to it. That, of course, doesn’t prevent Joe from blanching and Nile can't stop a snort of laughter that teeters toward the edge of hysterical. If the others notice, they make no mention of it. Instead Joe stumbles out a excuse to it being both as they walk back to the car. Nile slides into the back seat and is surprised when Nicky and Joe flank her on both sides. Andy pauses at the driver side door only to drop the killer's car keys to the ground at her feet.

***************

They drive for hours. Nile drifts into that place between sleep and waking, drained by the adrenaline that's since leached out of her yet tethered by the safety of the two men at her side. They had explained how they had begun searching for her four days ago. Andy had called them immediately when Nile hadn't disembarked and been on her way to Chicago an hour later. Copley provided her location by tracing the number of her current cell phone.

"So why didn't you make contact?" Nile asked, a little impressed by the accuracy of her predictions. She didn't mention it though for fear the three would think they were becoming too predictable.

"I assume I saw the same news report you did." Andy glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. "The girls...I remembered you telling me about the neighborhood you grew up in."

"I think what Andy means to say is, you remind her a lot of herself," said Nicky, keeping his attention fixed at the lack of view outside his window. "Once we found you, it wasn't hard to guess at what you were doing. We figured you'd let us know if you needed help."

Nile's stomach rolled with embarrassment. "Then how did you know about the guy or that I was taken in the first place?"

Nicky turned around, his eyes momentarily flicking up to look at Joe and then back to her. 

"While you were looking for him, he was watching you," he said. "And we were watching him."

_They would do the same for you._ Andy had once told her. A promise made in the same breathe as she prepared to confront Nicky and Joe's captor. A promise fulfilled and, Nile realized, would be filled again. For as long as any of them still breathed.

It takes her a moment to recognize the street they're on as Andy pulls the car up to the curve. Unconsciously, her eyes drift upward, spotting the light still on in the third floor west corner apartment. Her heart hurts again as she looks back to Andy, unable to voice the question currently choking her. Andy smiles sadly before pulling out her phone and dialing a number. She puts the phone on speaker.

"Hello? Who is this?" Nile's breath shudders at the sound of her mom's voice on the line. Intellectually, she knows Copley's must have given it to Andy; but she can't quite reconcile her two worlds together. "Hello?"

"My name is Sergeant Troy, ma'am," Andy's voice turns professional and sincere all at the same time. "I apologize for calling at this late hour, but we're having to work around a difference in time zone. I served with your daughter, Nile Freeman." 

"Oh...I see. Sergeant, I-"

"I just wanted to extend my personal condolences for your loss," Andy beats her to the punch and winces at the sharp pain in Nile's face. "And to let you know she was one of the best and kindest woman I've ever had the pleasure of commanding."

  
  
Time slows to a stop for Nile in the pause before her mother answers. When she speaks again, it's brittle but held together by a strength Nile's spent her whole life trying to emulate. "Thank you, Sergeant. That's....It's good to here

Andy continues, her tone soft. Treading carefully so as not to cause too much pain. "I also know she loved you and her brother very much."  
  


"And we love her."  
  


It takes the last of Nile's strength not to snatch the phone from Andy's hand. Instead, she digs her nails into Nicky and Joe's arms and closes her eyes against the torrent of emotions running through her. It hurts like a bitch, but she understands. The gift Andy's given her is something priceless. A chance to hear her mother say she loves her one last time and to know her mom actually will be fine. In this moment, Nile commits to never losing this memory. No matter how many millenia she lives. No matter how long she will outlive Andy or may outlive Joe, Nicky, and Booker. This moment here will always be remember.

Andy pauses the reverent amount of time before concluding, "Well, I felt you needed to hear that. I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing. Sorry for disturbing you, ma'am. Good night."  
  


"Thank you, Sergeant Troy...Good night."

The line disconnects and silence fills the car. Nicky and Joe each hold Nile's hand, respectively, neither complaining as she grasps onto them for dear life. Andy says nothing but looks as though she's about to apologize.

"Don't!" The word comes out harsher than Nile intends, stopping Andy in her tracks. She softens it with a simple, "Thank you."

Andy smiles. It's a scarred, wretched sort of thing but all Nile can see is the depth of understanding carried with it. 

  
  
"You ready?" Andy asks. Nile takes in a breath.

"Whenever you are, Boss."

  
  
"Good answer."


	2. Booker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hello, Booker. It's nice to finally meet you."
> 
>  **Warnings:** Description of torture, character death(s), and drowning. This chapter is heavily inspired by the events of The Old Guards: Force Multiplied, modified to fit the current movie-verse. So, if you read it, you know Booker is not in for a good time.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Quynh's voice is softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting to ever hear it at all. It's delicate and sharp, like the fine edge of a good blade. She stares at him, waiting. The glass in her hand is placed carefully on the sink behind her. Against his better judgement, he lowers his gun.

"Quynh. How did you-? How are you here right now?" he asks.

Her smile is as sharp as her voice, and no less forgiving. "That...is a long story, Booker, and I'm much more interested in hearing your own."

The alcohol must be fading fast as that better judgement he wasn't listening to before makes itself louder in his head. He tenses as she rises to her feet again, the stories the others told giving no justice to the naturalness of her grace. She doesn't approach him.

"Not much to tell," he finally admits. He's certain as sin she'll know if he lies to her. "I was exiled."

Quynh bows her head solemnly.

"I know," she says, her tone so full of genuine sympathy he can't help but marvel at her kindness. There's no time to react before the bullet pierces his heart. _At least I won't dream of her screaming anymore,_ he thinks as he dies.

***************

Copley is sitting at his home desk, bemusedly admiring a crime scene photo obtained after the team's bust of a San Francisco-based human trafficking ring. Though the investigators on the case don’t yet know it, never will, their victim, John Doe #2, was killed by an expertly placed sniper’s bullet, aimed from the security tower near the edge of the pier. Estimating a rough distance from the photo's pixelation, Copley let out a sharp whistle.

"Nice shot, Nicky," he says aloud to an empty room and places the picture casually in the 'destroy' pile. "Hell of a shot."

It's been six months, three days, and approximately nine hours since he started this job. Each second an atonement for the lives almost lost to his selfishness. It’s a drop in the bucket for his esteemed colleagues he knows, but he doesn't have the same time they do to waste it. He hasn’t told them he’s already begun vetting a replacement for when the inevitable happens.

He moves on to the next picture, a secondary shot of the crowd gathered behind the police tape. Standard image, nothing to implicate the team who were long gone by the time it was taken. Something about it still makes him pause. The crowd is small, consisting primarily of dock workers and reporters who heard the chatter over the police band. There’s also the woman.

Mid 30s-40s. Average height. Slim. Korean. Her red coat may have cost a good portion of a week’s salary. If Copley didn’t know better, it would be easy to mistake her for just another reporter. But, unlike the rest, she has no crew with her, no notepad or device on hand for taking any kind of notes. Her gloved hands hold delicately onto the barrier in front of her as she stares directly into the camera.

Copley straightens in his seat. He knows that face. Looking up, his eyes automatically lock on the location where he’s seen it so many times before, but there’s nothing except books there now. He finished destroying the last of his research a week ago.

He reaches for his phone feeling something resembling dread and gives Joe a call.

***************

Booker gasps back to life, his hands automatically flying to his chest. He let’s the breathe back out slowly, unable to say he’s not disappointed to still be alive. Un-surprised, maybe, but the disappointment is ever-present. He looks around, realizes he’s handcuffed on a cot in what looks to be a crew bedroom aboard a yacht. He sits up to look out the port-hole above him and sees the shoreline of Le Havre in the distance. _So, Quynh’s managed to gather some help_.

He swings his legs over the cot’s edge and makes himself more comfortable. There’s no point in wasting effort in an attempt to escape. Quynh knows what he is. She won’t hesitate to stop him and clearly has no qualms when it comes to killing him. No, best to wait and let her tell him what she wants.

He wonders briefly if this is some sort of revenge for his betrayal of Andy. The consuming outrage of a wrathful sea goddess turned on the man who nearly murdered her beloved. He wouldn’t blame her if it was. Almost even lets himself hope that’s all this is. Otherwise, he’d be too terrified to even think if it's not. He’s dreamt of her rage the same as Nile. He just had the good sense not to say anything about it.

It’s near dark before the cabin door opens. Quynh enters, flanked on her right by a tall man carrying a heavy looking chain. She's changed for the occasion. A white silk blouse tucked into black high-waisted pants. The clothes cut a clean line along her figure. Not that Booker notices. There’s just so little room with the three of them crammed in there together.

”Booker.” She greets him.

”Quynh.”

She smiles that same smile and motions to the man standing next to her. “My associate here will be securing you to bring you above deck. I ask you not to struggle. He’s been given clear instruction to break your neck if you do.”

Booker spares a glance at the man, quickly assessing him to be ex-military. Russian, maybe. Possibly Czech. Booker puts his odds at fifty-fifty to make good on Quynh's threat. Whether he makes those odds, or not, though, Quynh certainly will. He stands. Allows himself to be wrapped in chains before shuffling his way out of the room between her and her mercenary. He hears gulls scream as he steps up onto the deck. The lights of Le Havre gleam faintly in the distance, fighting against the flush of a reddening sunset. The yacht is anchored few miles out into the straight. No eyes to see them except those of the birds. Hiding in plain sight

It unsettles him how comfortable Quynh seems to be on the water. For all she's experienced, she glides effortlessly away from him to the ship's edge and leans casually against the balcony to enjoy the view. He shifts against the chains, testing their weight. He has a sinking feeling he knows what she intends to do with him. Knows he, of anyone, probably definitely deserves it. She turns back to him

"Where's Andromache?" She asks and he blinks at her.

"How should I know?"

She considers his answer; then, turns back around to keep staring out at the city's horizon. The passive expression he can see along the side of her face slips into something a little angrier. She repeats her question. "Where's Andromache?"

Booker looks over to her body guard and then back to her. He isn't sure what game it is she's trying to play. She knows he's in exile. Must know he hasn't heard or seen the others in the past six months. Knows even if they did check in on him, which he's certain they haven't, he would have been too drunk to really notice. _She_ broke into _his_ apartment after all for Christ's sake.

"I don't know." He tells her. She inhales deeply. It must be the signal, because her guard charges forward, throwing a punch that Booker ducks away from on instinct. He shuffles back away from the man, aware he's in a confined space with no means of escape. He's still not going to make it easy for him to accomplish whatever it is Quynh's planning. The chains around his arms and chest aren't helping, preventing the use of his hands while at the same time slowing down his movements with their cumbersome weight. A lucky kick knocks him to his ass, hard, against the synthetic panel decking. Before he can recover, his feet are tied with rope and he's being dragged to the ship's port side. Quynh stands silently above him.

"Where's Andromache?"

Book narrows his eyes at her and spits, "Va te faire enculer."

The salt water burns as he swallows it.

***************

"That's impossible."

"I would have thought so, too." Copley agrees, considering the young woman slouched in the chair across from him. It's been six months since he's last seen her and the time seems to have done her plenty of good. Her hair is shorter now, a tapered cut that is both practical in her line of work but still retains a...youthful appearance. She still wears a bombers jacket, blue this time, over a white t-shirt, black jeans, and combat boots. The cosmetic changes are nothing, however, compared to the sureness in her stance as he opened his door for her. A confidence he'd only glimpsed at in the entrance of Merrick's laboratories.

"You're not hearing me." Her voice raises slightly as she tries to make her point. "It's impossible because I would have dreamed she was out."

Now that was new information. Copley raises his gaze to the other occupants in the room for conformation. Joe stands leaning against the bookcase behind Nile, arms wrapped tightly around his frame as if by doing so he could hold back the pain otherwise etched into his countenance. In the far corner, Nicky sits on the couch beside Andromache, a hand rested gently on her shoulder and arm. His entire focus devoted to holding her up lest she fall and shatter like glass. The eternal warrior stares out into the middle distance, seemingly insensate to the world around her. None of them seemed to have heard Nile, so he ventures aloud, "Is that true?"

Joe blinks, or maybe flinches, out of the spell first. "Yes. Maybe. You're certain it's her?"

The look he gives Copley might kill a lesser man. Five hundred years of guilt, sadness, and disappointment bares down in that singular expression, promising worse than a slow death if the former spy is lying to them. Even Nile feels it, subtly shifting her position so she can place herself squarely between the mortal and immortal should Joe's anguish get the better of him. Copley, for his part, absorbs the look with magnanimous grace. Grief is not solely an invention of immortals.

"It's her."

All eyes turn to Andy. She's back with them now, but it's a fragile thing. Nick's hands have dropped to his lap, not straying far in case they'll be needed. Tentatively, he asks, "Then, shouldn't we be looking for her?"

Andy swallows and shakes her head. "I'm not sure she wants to be found."

***************

Nothing hurts quite like drowning Booker decides, as he wretches the last bit of seawater from his lungs. Even his dreams of Quynh couldn't adequately replicate the sensation. He's died more times than he cares to count below the waves. Each waking its own hell as his body spasms to inhale air, only to draw in fluid instead. The chains compress around him and he can't fight them, can't even struggle. It takes less than a minute each time to die. Then the whole process starts over again.

"You think this time it will kill you," Quynh speaks, as if reading his thoughts. She's crouched beside him, her hand wavering a centimetre above his head. Deciding if now is the moment to stroke his hair in comfort or pull it in admonishment. "But it doesn't. I honestly don't know _when_ you'll die, but I know it won't be here. Not like this."

He coughs once more, curling in on himself as much as the chains will allow, and whispers. "Salope."

"Language, Booker."

***************

It's Copley who eventually finds him. On a hunch, and at the behest of Nile, the resident spy fetches the back-up copies he made of all investigatory material into the "criminal" activities of the Old Guard. It's a name he came up with himself, or rather stole from his brothers across the pond. The name of the military detail assigned to protect the President. Something to classify his colleagues besides calling them colleagues, mercenaries, or simply The Team. Regardless of its source, the label seems to fit them. No one could argue they protect something far more precious.

He pours over the crime scene photos and discovers his gut is right. In the background of the crowd photos, almost out of focus, she's there. Tokyo. New York. Moscow. London. Chicago. Quynh has been following them for the better part of three months. Slowly drawing closer and closer to their handiwork. He takes a gamble and decides to reach out to a few, former contacts at the Company. Sets the old dogs on Quynh's trail and hopes she's unaware of how to blend in a world of photo surveillance and individual tracking. Also bets he can contain the situation before his contacts start to get suspicious. It would be hard to explain away a dead woman coming repeatedly back to life.

Like the hunch, his gamble pays off. He manages to track her to Paris and then Le Havre. By sheer luck, a friend (with access to a very good telescopic lens) determines she's aboard a luxury yacht; rented and anchored a mile or two from the harbor. He calls the Guard immediately when he sees his friend's photo. It's Joe who recommends it's time for a swim.

****************

Quynh's interrogation of him relents eventually. Her men fish him out of the water and carry him back to the ship's hold. His chains are removed but for the ever-present handcuffs, which now cut tightly into the skin of his wrists. He shivers involuntarily, unwilling or unable to pull himself up off the floor. He's cold, aching, and exhausted. Mostly exhausted. The best he can do is drag himself to the corner and try to catch some sleep.

He dreams of his family. Nile's hand reaches curiously into their small campfire, the flesh crackling and melting as he grabs ahold of her arm and keeps it against the flames. Except instead of a fire, it's a furnace. Her whole body burning to ash as he stares at what remains of his brothers-in-arms. Nicky and Joe are in pieces now. Dissected and sliced just as Merrick had promised. He can still see the fear in their eyes.

"What have you done, Book?"

He kneels down beside Andy. Tries to think of a way to explain it to her. Begs her forgiveness. Promises he would do anything if it would just remove the tears forming in her eyes. She's bleeding and Quynh stands over both of them with a gun in her hand. Andy slips away in his arms beside four well-worn headstones.

His own shouting wakes him. His lungs hurt, now more than ever, even though there's plenty of air surrounding them. His vision burns with the after-images of the dead. He's so disoriented he almost completely misses the sound of gunfire, yelling and the splash of a body as it hits the water. Quynh's guard barrels into the room and storms immediately towards him. It's less than a fair fight this time, as Booker kicks; allowing himself to be grabbed and dragged forward by his heel. Close enough to sweep at the man with his other leg. The gambit pays off and he's released, wasting no time to lunge forward and wrap the chain of his cuffs tightly around his opponent's throat. He twists and pulls until the body falls slack against his arms.

Standing, he hears a male voice yelling for someone's surrender. Whoever they are, they clearly don't know who it is they're dealing with; but Booker would rather take his chances with anyone else at the moment. Scrambling for the door, he's stopped by the sword impaling his chest.

"Leaving so soon?" Quynh asks as he falls to his knees. His body momentarily spasms, thinking it's going to drown again; and it's enough time for Quynh to seize him and drag him back to his feet. With the sword at his throat, she leads him up out of the hold and into the bright shining light of the afternoon sun.

"Andy?"

His boss and sister is there. Standing in modern body armor, ancient battle ax in hand, admits a veritable sea of carnage. He counts _at least_ five bodies scattered, slashed and cut into an impressive variety of little pieces. Nicky, Joe, and Nile flank her. Their bloody and torn clothing the only evidence of their efforts to protect her now mortal life. They look exhausted as he feels and angry. So very, very angry.

"Quyhn." He hears Andy breathe, the sound the closest he's ever come to hearing prayer on her lips.

"Andromache." The sword presses temporarily against his throat and, suddenly, he's pitching off-balance forward as Quynh says, "He's all _yours_."

He hears the clang of metal before a strong, familiar hand catches and steadies him; and all he can see is Andy's face calling his name. He reaches for her with a grin. "Hey, good to see you, boss."

His casual tone threatens to rip Andy's already delicate control apart. He's wet, and shivering, and it's hard to miss the evidence of a stab wound and bullet hole center mass on his chest. Even without Copley's picture showing Quynh intentionally kicking him into the water, Andy knows it would be impossible not to piece it together. She harness her anger for the moment and reaches up to caress his face.

"Sébastien. I'm so, so sorry." 

He coughs up a laugh and winces, eyes dropping to the ground as if to hide from her what it is he's thinking. He mutters something in French about it being war and hesitantly leans into her touch. If Quynh is a goddess of water than Andy is that of the sun; and all Booker wants in this moment is to bask in the heat of her kindness for just a little while more.

"How sweet," Quynh's voice interrupts them. She's looming above them, just like in his nightmare. But instead of dying, Andy is shoving him behind her. Nicky pulls him swiftly to his feet as Andy plants herself firmly between Booker, the others, and Quynh, the grip on her ax tightening imperceptibly.

"What have you done, Quynh?" She demands, her suppressed anger roaring to life in a blaze of incandescent fury. Quynh smiles at her, over-joyed in the display.

"I used to dream, you know." Quynh says by way of answer, adjusting the grip on her blade to match Andy's own. "Dream that one day you would welcome me home the same way you have him." She steps forward slightly, her gaze passing fleetingly over Booker. "But now I doubt that will ever happen."

Andy looks as though she's been struck.

"Quynh, why? Why have you done this?" Her voice shakes in spite of herself. Any hopes of a happy reunion, even if only in death, lay in the tattered carnage surrounding them. She feels the others at her back, ready to follow her command. "Why not just come back to us?"

Quynh strikes without warning, her blade slicing through air. Andy has just enough time to raise her ax up to defend herself before metal sings against metal, filling the air with battle song.

"Because you weren't there!" Quynh shrieks, grabbing Andy by her armor with her free hand and pulling her opponent in for a kiss. Time freezes. So does the Scythian. Weapons slip to floor as competing passion and confusion free both warriors from their battle stance. _She still tastes the same_ , Andy thinks as Quynh finally pulls away. To her horror, Quynh's expression is cold and despondent when she sees it again. "And now I know you were _never_ going to come."

The words echo in solemn judgement as Quynh releases her and steps back to the stairwell of the hold. Her eyes scan the enemies before her. The youngest stares at her in shock, the other in fear or anger. Grief pools silently from those she once called brother. And Andromache, her sweet Andromache, looks as though the world has been shattered. Quynh raises her hands in abject surrender. "So, I leave my fate in your hands."

They're pain is a balm to her soul.

**************

It's Booker who eventually breaks the silence. 

"Boss." He calls out as he feels his legs begin to slip out from underneath him. He's not dying but his body is tired; and Nicky and Nile are soon the only things holding him up. It's still enough to snap Andy back into reality. Looking between a fading Booker and Quynh, she makes her decision.

"We're leaving." She says, crouching down to retrieve her ax as well as Quynh's sword beside it. The latter she hands to Joe, who takes it with a too sincere look of confusion on his face. "Toss that over." She turns back to Quynh. "There's been enough killing today."

It takes at least three of them to drag Booker onto their escape raft gently. Andy maintains her post between them and Quynh, her expression an unreadable maelstrom of emotions. Quynh herself watches the proceedings coiled like a snake looking for its moment to strike. She gives a slight wave as Andy disembarks.

"How did you find me?" Booker asks when they're a few miles up-shore and far out of sight of Quynh and her yacht.

"You can thank Copley," Nile supplies, lifting her head off his shoulder to look him in the eye. "He saw her in a crime-scene photo and worked the angle from there."

"Copley? James Copley?"

"He's not so bad when he's not selling us out," Joe interjects from his seat at the raft's motor. He meets Booker's somber gaze with a concerned one of his own. "How are you feeling?"

Booker huffs, trying to stay still as Nile curls her arms tighter around herself and rests her head against his shoulder again. The young woman has stayed glued to his side their entire escape. A steady, warm presence to remind him this was, in fact, real. "I've been better...and worse."

The joke draws a snort out of Nicky, who sits on his other side, and Joe's expression lightens into something like relief. He doesn't tell them how much that alone hurts to see. That nothing Quynh's done, or might still do to him, will match having to say goodbye to them all once they reach shore again. Instead, he takes the time to enjoy the look of outrage on Nile's face when she hears his stomach growl and the way she immediately orders Nicky and Joe to pick up pizza... _any_ pizza as soon as they've landed. He expects Nile won't let him out of her sight until she's seen he's been properly fed and he loves her for it. But reality is reality and there's a price he still has to pay. Looking over at Andy, whose been silently staring out at the sea, he asks, "So, what's the plan now, Boss?"

"I don't know," she replies, drawing silence from the others. "But we're doing it together."

She looks over at Booker. "All of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:***
> 
> _Va te faire enculer._ \- Go fuck yourself  
>  _Salope_ \- Bitch/slut
> 
>  ***** I do not speak French, so all failures at conjugation are on me.


	3. Nicky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kozak's been hunting them for a very long time.
> 
>  **Warning:** Canon-typical violence, language, and gay angst. Ya'll been warned.

Nicky has always hated hospitals. An odd observation, to be certain, from someone who has no need of them. He should amend that to say, he's always hated the modern concept of a hospital. Sterile walls surrounding sterile beds where clinical men (and women) treat death with sterile hands. He's fully aware of how unfair the assessment is, how far medicine has come in the over nine-hundred years he's walked the Earth. He just mourns a time when the spirit was administered to in conjunction with the body. He's also aware that most modern day doctors are saints compared to the woman standing before him.

"Dr. Kozak," he coolly names her, the ideal of captured civility. "We were under the belief you had been arrested. A mistake, or so it would appear."

She returns his politeness with a brittle smile all her own. He notes that she's thinned considerably in the last year, most noticeably around her face. There's a hollowness present in her cheeks he doesn't remember from before. It makes her look hungrier, more feral. Desperate. 

"Oh, I was," she informs him. "Your Mr. Copley is very good at his job."

_Not good enough,_ Nicky thinks. _I'll have to scold Yusuf about that when I next see him._

Thinking of Yusuf hurts him, of course; but not nearly as much as it would if his love was laid out on the bed next him. One round of being ( _how was it that Nile phrased it?_ ) medical pin-cushions together was enough for one lifetime. _Still_ , he thinks as his eyes wander about the room, _twice in a lifetime for just one of us may be asking too much._ He can't see much difference between this lab and Merrick's. Well, the walls are yellower and the bed he's on is not nearly as comfortable. The equipment all appears to be the same, though Nile might have a better grasps on the specifics. And there's no Yusuf. He closes his eyes, draws in a breath, and finds his peace in that.

**************

This is, without a doubt, the worst moment in Joe's life.

"You need to enhance the image- no, enhance. Just let me do it!" Booker finds his laptop summarily seized from his grasp, caught up in a whirlwind of frustration, and carted off towards the far corner of their safe house living room. He stares, slack-jawed, after the thief as if expecting the man to grow another head.

"Since when do you know so much about technology?"

"Since you betrayed us to the bastard whose lap dog currently has Nicky."

Booker scowls but can hardly argue with him on that point. Instead he stands and walks toward the kitchen, muttering curse words under his breath. Nile's certain she can translate about half of them before she needs to use Google as a refresher. She glances over her shoulder at Joe, now sitting cross-legged on the ugliest orange couch she's ever laid eyes on, his attention laser-locked on the screen in front of him, and sighs. Turning back around, she runs her hand tiredly down her face and goes back to watching Andy clean the last of their weapons supply.

"How are you so calm about this?" She finally asks the older woman aloud. She remembers the Andy from before. _Was_ _as it really only a year ago?_ Remembers the walking coil of tightly wound determination desperately trying to keep what was left of her world solidly together. Andy looks up at her question, hands not even slowing the familiar steps of their work, and the corner of her mouth quirks upward into a wry smile.

"What makes you think I'm calm?"

Nile glances done at the handgun and handgun parts arrayed in tidy arc across Andy's quarter of the table. She nods her head to the side, acknowledging the ancient warrior's point. Andy's smile tightens as she snaps a full clip into the newest, fully cleaned weapon and loads the chamber. Picking up a Glock from the pile on her right, she hands it over to Nile. 

"First rule of battle, little one." She says as the younger woman takes it. 

"Don't every let them know where you are?"

Andy laughs, softly. "Well, that's one approach. I was gonna say: when you have the time to prepare, use it."

"Not as poetic," Nile comments as she begins to disassemble the gun. 

***************

"How are you feeling?" Kozak has the gall to ask him as she settles the needle back down on the medical tray behind her. He swears to himself, if it's the last thing he does, he will be the one to snap her neck. 

In the interim, he chooses to remain silent, ride out the effects of the poison coursing its way rapidly through his veins. It's his second dose in as many minutes, and he isn't sure (yet) what purpose its suppose to serve. He understands in a broad sense what it's _meant_ to be doing. The _intent_ to divine secrets known only to the Almighty through the sacred rituals of science. This particular ritual is only at its beginning. In a moment, he is certain, he will begin to feel the drug's effects; and then the butcher will begin to slice. To cut away at him in an effort to ' _document the full physiological response'_. They've done this for so long now.

"Does it ever tire you?" He asks, surprising himself as much as her. Kozak looks back at him warily. 

"Does what tire me?" She returns her attention to the tools on her tray, inspects the label of a small bottle, and takes down a quick note. 

He studies her with a particularly maudlin expression. "This. All of this. The ritual of it."

She ignores him. Dampens a cotton ball in ethanol and begins to clean the unsterilized probe. Moves the scalpels closer for easier access. Prepares a third injection, on consideration, in case another increment in dosage is required. She surmises that most likely will not be the case. His sudden candor speaks, if the pun could be excused, to the treatment's effectiveness. A loss of inhibition was a well documented side effect of the cocktail. She considers humoring him for a moment.

"You view this as ritual?" She asks, swiveling to face him. She sounds genuinely curious, watching him with an air of detached inquiry. He almost misses the days when a captor was certain to be one of three things: angry, bored, or (on rare occasions) lustful. Almost. The infectious cynicism of the the 21st century is still taking him some getting used to. He almost misses her addendum. "-And to who, do you think, are we praying?"

"Certainly no god of mine," he replies. His stomach cramps uncomfortably, but he forces himself to meet her eyes. This time, she's the one to blink first.

"I think we should raise the dosage to 30 CCs."

***************

Their search for Nicky has lasted almost a month and Nile is starting to worry. The others don't say much about it, act as if things are...well, certainly not normal, but expected. She's fully aware a month isn't even close to the longest internment any of them have ever experienced, alone or together. Knows they still have plenty of options when it comes to leads. They're not giving up by a long shot, but the frantic immediacy that the search began with is starting to ebb. They’re moving into the long game now and, as they’ve learned recently, it’s a state with the potential to last for centuries. She's beginning to worry how this is effecting Joe.

"I'm not hungry," he tells her as she places the bowl of Kraft Mac & Cheese on the side table beside him. It's not Nicky's cooking, to be sure, but Joe hasn't moved from the couch in the last twelve hours. Not since they returned empty handed from a lead concerning a cargo container and some very, very unhappy Germans. He's holding Nicky's sword at the moment, fingers gently brushing across the fine details of the saber, and Nile finds she just needs reassurance he's going to be alright. She glances over his head at the others, but Book and Andy aren't paying attention at the moment. That, or pointedly ignoring her. Either way, help isn't coming.

"Didn't expect you be." At this point, she knows direct confrontation is a non-starter, so she opts for the concession instead. It earns her an apologetic look and she takes advantage of the victory. Stepping around him, she moves to take a seat at the couch's other end, pulling her feet up onto the furniture so she can rest her arm comfortably on top of her knees. The message is clear. She's not going anywhere.

Joe chuckles in spite of himself. Nile is stubborn ( _willful_ , he hears Nicolò say), intrusive ( _concerned_ ), bossy ( _determined_ ), and young ( _young, Nicolò_ pleasantly agrees). She also has a better heart than any of them really deserve. She smiles, softly, back at him, waiting patiently for his lead. For him to tell her what it is she _can_ do for him. It's the one trait, besides immortality, that they all seem to possess. An inability, or rather, disinterest in sitting on their hands even if busy-work is all that's available to them. Setting the sword aside carefully, he picks up the cooling bowl from off the table in a token peace offering. "Thanks."

"We'll get him back, Joe." She says finally as she watches him eat, aware as he is it's an empty promise. He remembers making a similar to Andy once over five-hundred years ago. The feeling of mutual appreciation and sadness strikes him as he muses over her innocence.

The truth is Kozak could be keeping Nicolò anywhere in the world. There is no shortage in the number of governments, mercenary, or pharmaceutical entities she could convince into willing backing the operation which allowed her to steal away his heart. Copley may have tarnished her reputation, to be sure, but he couldn't erase her intelligence or talent. Which means there's equally no shortage in the number of hiding place he could possibly be. Even her eventual death provided no security in Nicolò's release. Not when there would be proteges trained and able to take up her cause. He doesn't even want to think about what she could be doing to him at this very moment. _Can't_ think about it, because if he does, he knows he'll be of absolutely no use to Nicolò, or Andy, or even Booker and Nile. He needs to stay focused because whatever bunker, or container, or tent they _will_ find him in, Joe swears if it takes his last breath, they will all be walking out of it together.

But, for now, his attention turns to a young woman in desperate need of reassurance.

**************

"In nomine Patri. Et Filii, Et Spiritus Sancti. A-" He dissolves into another fit of harsh coughing as his bodily fluids rapidly continue to fill his lungs. "A-men"

Kozak is watching him with a look of passionless fascination. He wonders if this is the first time she's seen one of her - _lab mice_ \- in prayer before. Normally, he wouldn't have even bothered to speak the words aloud, but this particular death is excruciatingly agonizing and he needs to say it because he fears this time might actually be his last. All things die, he knows, and in a more rational frame of mind would consider the assumption that this death would be his last to be utterly ridiculous. He just doesn't want to die _here_.

"You still believe in God." The statement is framed more as a question. For a moment, Nicky reflects on the journey the pair have been on together. From dissections, to drugs, now on to this continuous psychological assessment, Kozak has made good on Merrick's threat to slice away at every piece of him.

He spares her a withering glance. "Why- _cough_ -why shouldn't I?" 

In truth, his faith _is_ meaningless to her. Nothing but an additional factor to make note of in her final profile of him. Yet, she takes a small thrill in the feeling of vindication as she remembers his earlier admonishment. The incompetence of the faithful to grasp the necessity of action will never cease to amaze her. "After all you've seen? All you've experienced?"

He doesn't have the strength to debate her. It's not like it's the first time he's had a discussion like this with someone, after all. Andy, for instance, maybe once or twice a century, delights in reminding him that she was once worshiped as a goddess. Yusuf's belief comes and goes like a tide without pattern. Sometimes so strong Nicky can't help but ruminate over the inferiority of his own. Other times so fragile it's all Nicky can do to pray enough for the both of them. Nile is still putting her faith in the context of the world opening up around her. He's looking forward to the discussions they will have in the decades to come. He realizes with a pang of regret Booker is the only one of the four with whom he's never actually broached the topic. The Frenchman never seemed interested in sharing that particular aspect of himself, and Nicky was loathe to force it on him. Now he wishes he'd been more insistent.

Laying his head back tiredly against the table's headrest, he waits to die. 

**************

"Two," Booker mouths from across the doorway, holding the subsequent fingers up to his chest. Andy nods, tightening the grip on her assault rifle, and signals to Joe and Nile behind her. She goes first. 

The guards don't even know what it is that hits them as the ancient warrior storms past their corpses with Booker and Nile flanking her tightly on either side. Ready to step in front of a bullet for her at a second's notice. Joe covers the rear and they all try to ignore the absent presence meant to be pivoting easily between one battle front and another. They march down an empty, branching corridor in underground Turkey, of all places, focused on the single target ahead of them.

Dr. Kozak, it seemed, had learned one lesson from Nile's one-man rescue attempt at her former employer's. Two more men now stand guard behind the lab door, ready to fire in case of breach. She watches in horror as they're cut ruthlessly down in front of her. It's Joe who approaches, numb to her protest and pleas for forgiveness as she backs uselessly away from him. He snaps her neck with his bare hands.

"Nicky? Nicky, are you still with us?" He hears the others behind him. Andy and Nile are in the process of ripping apart the last remnants of Kozak's hubris. Wires, tubes, and needles are peeled as gently as they can be away from too-pale looking skin on grotesque display for the world to see. Booker stands warily at the lab's entrance, prepared in case their rescue signals more trouble, but legitimately looking as though he's about to be sick. Joe doesn't even try to suppress the ghost of vengeful satisfaction.

It's only when he hears the panic in Andy's voice that his focus returns and his world constricts down to just him and Nicolò. He collapses the distance between them. Caresses the other man's face, one hand sliding down to his shoulder while the other comes to rest over his beloved's heart. The body feels cold and he can't reconcile the sensation with any memory he has of his beloved Nicolò. He presses his forehead against that of his love's and prays to Allah. Prays that they are not too late.

"Nicolò, destati....Nicolò."

Blue eyes open beneath his and he nearly faints as a ragged breath briefly expands the form beneath him. Nicky's lips spread upwards into a tired smile

"It's good to finally see you, Yusuf."


End file.
